


Stranded in the Snow

by thecrisspointssystem



Category: Gravity Falls
Genre: F/M, GN Reader, Gen, M/M, Reader Insert, ive only been in snow 3 times in my life i hope i got it down, this was also a request you guys should send me more requests
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-12
Updated: 2015-10-12
Packaged: 2018-04-26 00:50:53
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,434
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4983484
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thecrisspointssystem/pseuds/thecrisspointssystem
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A Detroit winter night is made more bearable through the help of a stranger.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Stranded in the Snow

Funny how you were in America’s Automobile Capital and you were stranded without a car. You sat at the bus stop with your arms wrapped around your shivering legs and feet pattering to attempt to stay warm. Detroit winters were something you should have gotten used considering it was your second year living in the city, but with your scattered mind you neglected to pay attention to the frosty windows when you woke up this morning. When you first stepped out of the door this morning, you were greeted by a shining sun, so you figured that your light cardigan would protect you well enough. The previous days weren’t too cold and snow wasn’t expected to fall until next week. You made the mistake before of over preparing for the cold and ended up roasting for the rest of the day. You figured today would be one of those days.

Boy, you were wrong.

You had just gotten off of your shift waitressing at The Rusty Spoon at eleven and the 12 bus was late (again) to pick you up. A large part of you wanted to walk home (it was only twelve blocks), but the snow was beginning to pile up and your nose was already red from the freezing cold. The wait for the overcrowded (and thus slightly heated) bus would be worth it. But after another fifteen minutes of waiting and another half inch of snow, you started to tread your way home. I guess it got canceled again, you thought to yourself as you looked up and down the street one last time. You stood up with a grunt, shaking off of the excess snow that found its way on your shoulders, and began your voyage home. The walk would be much easier with your mittens, earmuffs, snow boots and so on, but instead the canvas of your converse was soaked, making your socks wet.  _Great_.

The Detroit streets were quieter than you expected. The first late night snow of the winter season sent many city natives indoors. You came from a small city in a small county several miles away, but decided to reside in Detroit for all it had to offer. It was 1971 after all. Motown was still alive and well and the automobile industry was in full swing. Even if you weren’t able to get a taste of what Motown and its effects on the city had to offer, you could say you experienced some of the madness before it went out of style. Your apartment was away from the heart of the city, but it still gave you a taste of the city life you yearned for. Once you were out of business school, you hoped that your Detroit experiences would give you what you needed to make it in the business world of Chicago. Big dreams for a naive student.

After ten blocks of mindlessly walking, you started to get lost in your own thoughts of homework, annoying customers, and the fact that you needed to actually think before you left the house in the morning that it took you a minute before you heard the honking of a car. You snapped out of your own thoughts and looked around to see who was trying to contact you. The bright headlights of the red car were blinding you and you shielded your eyes, growing confused as it came to a halt in the middle of the road.

A young man, approximately the same age as you, stepped out of the car and jogged up to you. You tensed up, afraid that you had somehow volunteered yourself to this potential threat. The man was broad shouldered, easily towered over you and at the sight of his large hands that were prematurely reaching out to shake yours, you began to retreat. You moved again, faster, and wrapped your arms around your torso. You mentally prepared to warm up your vocal chords in case you had to scream your way out of the situation. His eyes widened at your new sense of panic.

“No, no, no!” he shouted out. “Wait!” You slowed down and turned to face him, your hands forming weak inexperienced fists.

“What do you want from me?” you asked weakly. You licked your lips, realizing how chapped they were at that moment. Your clenched fists were about to freeze shut in the cold. The man was handsome, his face overcome with stubble, but his clothes were soiled with miscellaneous stains and full of holes. Despite this, he was still a potential threat. He nodded, sizing you up and started to take off his jacket. Your brows furrowed. “What are you doing?” He held out the heavy beige corduroy jacket. Your brows furrowed even more, your arms tight around your chest. You gave him a questioning look. “What?”

“Take it,” he grunted out, shaking it. “It’s freezing. At least I have my car. You look like you’re about to freeze to death.” He shook the jacket again, pushing it to your chest. You took it slowly, hesitant to take the gift from the stranger.

“What do you want?” you asked, starting to unfold the jacket slowly, holding eye contact with him.

“For you to put on the jacket! It’s freezing out here!” he said urgently, taking the jacket from you, unfolding it and holding it out again. You hesitantly grabbed it again, brows still knitted together.

“I don’t have any money,” you said before putting it on. The way the faux fur lined coat pressed against your now wet back made you realize how wet and cold you were right now. You shivered, shaking your head at the feeling. The jacket was oversized and heavy on your tired shoulders.

“I don’t care,” he said, his hands fiddling with his keys. “Do you feel better?” he asked, placing a hand on your shoulder. You tensed up again, still afraid of any ulterior motives. He removed his hand when he noticed this. “Look…I’m not here to hurt you. I couldn’t let you walk around looking like you’re about to snap in half like a popsicle.” He dug his hands into his pockets, his lips pursed, and kicked a leg in the snow. “Sorry to bother you…” he said, turning to walk back to his car.

“Wait!” you yelped, trying to find your voice again. He turned back to you. “Thank you. I appreciate it. I was having a bit of a crummy day and was afraid you were trying to hurt me or somethin’.” You let out a weak smile. “Don’t you want your jacket back?”

“I’ll be fine,” he lied. You looked back at his car and saw clothes, papers and food scattered across the backseat and again at him. It looked as though he was living out of it. This was probably his only jacket to last him this winter. “Wait a second!” he said and ran to the trunk of his car. He cut open a box and came back with an insultingly bright yellow t-shirt. “How would you like a Stan Co. Enterprises t-shirt, free of charge?” he asked, tossing it at you. You grabbed it and unfolded it, revealing the StanCo logo and an ironed on image of his face. Your smile was much bigger this time.

“I’m guessing you’re Stan?” you asked, folding the t-shirt and holding it to your chest.

“The one and only!” he said boastfully, pointing his thumb to his chest. You smiled again at his confidence.

“Well, what can I do to pay you back, Stan?” you asked. You briefly glanced at your watch, realizing the time.

“Stay warm this winter, okay?” he requests, digging his hands even deeper in his pockets. He ducked his head, a slight blush appearing on his face.

You muster a tense smile, the cold still biting at you. “Okay. Only if you do me a small favor,” you offered. He raised his eyebrows and looked back up at you.

“And what could that be?” he asked.

“Could you walk me home? I’m only about two blocks from here and I want to return your jacket,” you asked, digging your hands into his jacket’s pockets. The faux fur didn’t stop at the collar it seemed, but there was an indistinguishable sticky object at the bottom of the left pocket and some crumpled wrapper in the bottom of the right. He eyes lit up, causing your face to grow unnaturally hot.

“Sure thing,” he said, coming up to you again and followed you side by side on your way to your apartment.


End file.
